


how we kissed and killed each other

by agetwellcard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends With Benefits, Gay Bucky Barnes, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Wartime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11641902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: “You don’t get to do this!” Steve shouted accusingly. “You left! And you can’t just come back like this and expect for me to be your friend again or for me to – ”Bucky cut Steve off this time by pushing him against the brick building and kissing him. It hadn’t been his kiss to take, but Steve hadn’t rejected it. Instead, he nearly growled as he kissed back, hand fisting Bucky’s shirt to pull him closer.(When Bucky and Steve are caught kissing by Bucky's father as teenagers, they are forced to lose contact. It's not until Steve saves Bucky's life in Azzano when things begin to change. They fall into a casual relationship that lasts for years until it starts to fall apart again.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> what can i say, i love angst.
> 
> warning for child abuse and homophobia. 
> 
> title cred to lorde.

It didn’t start as a joke, or a dare, or some sort of misunderstanding.

It was just the two of them and the summertime Brooklyn heat. It was the windows open, a slight breeze ruffling the sheer lace curtains and turning the pages of Steve’s sketchbook. It was a ratty couch and two sixteen year olds sitting too close.

Bucky had been studying the careful way Steve’s eyelashes had fluttered as he drew Bucky, eyebrows cinched in concentration, when Steve had looked up to him. He’d been doing it for at least a half hour now, sketching quickly for a few minutes before looking back up to examine Bucky’s face. This time, though, he stilled his pencil and blinked at Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Steve said nothing as he placed down his sketchbook on the coffee table. He moved slowly, like he thought Bucky was a scared animal that would jump if his movements were too quick. It was only a few inches Steve moved, his body sliding closer to Bucky’s on the couch, so that they were facing each other, Steve’s bent knee touching Bucky’s thigh.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen this moment coming, either.

For months (maybe even years) they had been chasing each other in circles. It felt like they had been waiting and waiting and waiting for this moment to arrive with every thoughtless touch and every pointed gaze. It really was no surprise to Bucky, but his heart was still hammering away in his chest as Steve looked back at him.

That moment stretched on for what felt like minutes but had to have only been seconds before Steve finally spoke up.

“Can I?” he asked timidly.

Of course it would be Steve that would finally be the one to end their game of tag. Steve had always been braver when it counted.

Bucky couldn’t speak, heart still stuttering away in his chest. Steve was asking if he could –

He nodded. Of course, of course, of course.

Bucky had kissed a plethora of girls. He knew how it worked, and he still remembered his shaky first try with Dorothy. Still, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself as Steve slowly neared. He seemed just as nervous and clueless. Steve hadn’t ever kissed anyone before Bucky.

Finally, though, Steve had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and took in a big breath before their lips met ungracefully. Steve’s lips were kissing the corner of Bucky’s and the touch alone was enough for Bucky to regain his composure and correct Steve’s mistake.

It felt nothing like those dames before.

It all ended so soon, though, Steve pulling away and nearly gaping at Bucky. He seemed horrified with his actions and must’ve been trying to gage Bucky’s reaction. Bucky didn’t know how else to reassure him than to pull him back in, hand on the front of his shirt, until their lips met again.

For a few more blissful seconds, they moved against each other without the rest of the world interfering. There were no slammed doors, or prying eyes, or yelled threats, or punches to the face. It was just the two of them and that hot summer day in Brooklyn.

Bucky wishes he could remember it like that.

***

When Bucky first sees him, he thinks Steve is a hallucination.

It’s not the first time that he’s seen those blue eyes. It’s always a fleeting moment, one where Steve is standing in front of him, a smile on his lips before he says Bucky’s name in that Bucky remembers so well. It always sounds like music to his ears, like something that is his for just a few moments until everything falls away and Bucky is back strapped to a metal table with needles sticking in him.

This version of Steve, though, isn’t right. Instead of the short, thin man Bucky remembers so well, he finds a tall muscular one. Bucky knows it’s him; he _knows_ that face. He’s practically memorized the curve of his lips and the slope of his nose and the flutter of his eyelashes. He knows it’s him, but everything is wrong.

“Steve?” he asks, voice scratchy from the screaming.

“Yeah, it’s me, Buck.” He’s not even smiling at Bucky. Instead, he’s frowning, eyebrows creased with worry.

Once his restraints are undone, Bucky reaches out to touch Steve’s chest. He’s dressed in red, white, and blue, and none of it makes sense to Bucky. “Are you real this time?”

Steve’s frown deepens. “I’m real,” he tells him, cupping the back of Bucky’s head. “I’m here now.”

***

He remembers his father’s anger so well.

He can’t remember the sound of the door being unlocked, or his footsteps to the living room, or even the shocked look on his face when he walked in on the two of them.

His father hadn’t touched Steve, and Bucky thinks about that a lot. There had been a few seconds of confusion and then labored breathing before Bucky’s father had curtly asked Steve to leave. Bucky was horrified that his father was going to hit Steve. He had never really liked Steve and always thought of him as a bad influence because of all the black eyes and broken noses Bucky had come home with. The disgust in his eyes, though, as he watched Steve awkwardly skirt around him stiffly, like he too was waiting for the blow.

It never came. Instead, Steve left, the slam of the door loud enough for Bucky to hear. He was nearly trembling, brain trying to come up with some sort of an excuse.

“It was a joke,” Bucky tells him quickly, choking on his words. “It just because – Steve’s never – It’s just a joke.”

Kissing your best friend could only ever be a joke, and a dangerous joke at that.

His father said nothing as he approached Bucky. The silence was killing him, and Bucky expected the worse the nearer his father got to him. Bucky flinched when he brought his hand up to hold Bucky’s jaw in place. It was too hard and he was too close, and Bucky felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t ever want to see that boy around here again,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to see you with him ever again. Got it?”

Bucky had horrible desire to cry, and the tears had already been welling up in his eyes. Crying in front of his father would only make the situation worse.

He couldn’t nod, though, or even speak. He was frozen in fear. Steve had been his best friend since they were children. The thought of a life without Steve was –

Suddenly, his father smacked him across the face.

“Do you understand?” he said louder.

Bucky nodded.

***

Bucky walks back to camp beside Steve.

They don’t talk, but Steve keeps catching Bucky staring. He’s completely different. The sick, frail kid from before is no longer. In his place is someone even more changed than the stranger Bucky once knew so well. He can’t stop looking over his muscular arms and the ridiculous suit he’s wearing.

He hasn’t had a real conversation with him since that night before Bucky left. He never thought he was coming home, let alone going to see Steve Rogers ever again. It’s embarrassing to think about.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks as they marched on. He leaned closer to Bucky, so that their shoulders were nearly touching.

Bucky moves away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not going to ask? About what happened to me?”

“Do I want to know?”

Steve frowns at him, and the past seems to fall on Bucky so harshly. “Probably not.”

They don’t talk the rest of the way to camp, and Bucky immediately heads to his own tent, desperate to not share the same space as Steve anymore. Steve stops him, though, with a strong hand on his wrist, tugging him back.

“You should go to the med tent,” he tells Bucky sternly.

Bucky moves away from the touch, body on fire where his hands had rested. “I’m fine.”

“Buck,” he says, the nickname searing something hot in Bucky’s chest. “I don’t know what happened out there, but I know something did. I only want for you to be safe.”

This makes Bucky snap with anger. “Why do you even care, huh?” It’s not his anger to bear. Steve’s deserved all the anger since Bucky was the one who left him twice, but Bucky doesn’t know how to react to this. Steve shouldn’t worry about him. He should be angry and resentful. Instead, he’s as warm as Bucky’s ever known him.

(Stupidly, Bucky remembers when Steve used to let Bucky fall asleep with his head on his lap, the radio playing on into Bucky’s dream. He remembers waking up with Steve’s hands in his hair, carefully stroking the strands and humming along to a slow song. He wishes he could live in that warmth, he wishes he could – )

“Because I thought you were dead,” Steve tells him sharply, taking a punctuated step towards Bucky, “and I won’t let that happen again.”

***

On the third day, Bucky tries desperately to understand why all the men favor sitting around in the nearest bar and drinking as much as they can.

He sits at the bar, head bowed and expectations low as he downs his seconds beer. He orders another, but he knows it’s likely he’ll start feeling anything. He doesn’t even feel buzzed, and something inside of him feels sick at the thought.

He wishes he could get drunk and forget all about that operating table. Funny how that goes.

He’s only sipping at his drink when there is a noticeable hush in the room. Bucky picks up his head curiously and peers around until he looks over to the person everyone is watching. Steve’s just entered the bar, still in his dress uniform, a slight blush on his face as he takes in the room. Bucky hides his face and grips his drink, hoping that Steve won’t see him.

He has no such luck, Steve sliding into the barstool next to Bucky’s and ordering himself a drink.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice quiet and personal.

Bucky hates it. He can’t think straight when Steve’s around him. “I’m fine,” he assures him, refusing to even look over to Steve.

“That’s good.” Steve clears his throat then. “Colonel was wondering if you wanted to be shipped back to the states.”

Bucky’s head snaps up when he hears this. “No. I’m not fucking dead. I can still fight.”

“That’s what I told him.”

Now that he’s looking at him up close, Steve looks exhausted. There are two black bags under his eyes and his hair is disheveled like he’s been pulling at it all night. Even worse, Bucky can tell how red his lips are from how he’s been biting at them. “Good,” he finally replies, eyes falling back to his beer mug.

They stay quiet for a few minutes. The sounds of the bar fill their silence, loud voices telling stories and bad piano being played in the corner. The place is flooded with soldiers with big stories of their bravery and Bucky wants to mute out of all of it.

Bucky is thinking of an excuse to leave when Steve speaks up again.

“Why are you avoiding me?”  

He swallows thickly and runs a nervous hand through his hair as he shrugs. “I’m not.”

Steve looks unconvinced. “Look, Bucky,” he starts, voice strained. “I want you on my team fighting beside me, but if you don’t – ” Steve clears his throat. “If you still have something against me then I won’t mention your name.”  

Bucky feels gutted. Steve wants him to fight alongside him. For so long it’s felt like they were fighting each other, and now, without thought, Steve wants him on his side. He doesn’t deserve it, he knows that. He wishes he could explain to Steve that he never had anything against Steve in the first place, but he knows that the blame is not entirely his father’s. Bucky was a goddamn adult who could’ve fixed things much sooner, but he never did.

Now, the most stubborn man in all of Brooklyn is giving in all for Bucky.

“I have nothing against you, Steve,” Bucky finally tells him, trying to keep his voice steady. “I want to fight with you.”

Steve smiles softly.

***

Bucky had been drunk.

It hadn’t started that way. The night had promise up until he had enough of pacing around his apartment or trying desperately to fall asleep. He found himself in a bar on his last night of freedom.

It was almost by habit that Bucky found himself charming a couple of dames. He had no concern for how much money he was dropping on drinks for himself or the dames he was attempting to seduce. It was easy to just let them talk and chime in with his flirty one-liners and watch them turn red before bursting into nervous laughter. The rote of it all was almost calming to Bucky.

He excused himself to the bathroom, though, his throat tight as he strode across the room. He locked himself into a tiny, dirty room and gripped the edge of the sink. In the reflection of the mirror, his light button-up was nearly transparent with sweat. He undid a few of the top buttons and splashed himself with water. His hair was falling out of place, stray strands slipping into his eyes as he leaned down.

Eventually, he unlocked the door and stepped back into the bar. His hands reached into his pocket to find a pack of cigarettes, his fingers deftly lighting it and bringing it up to his mouth for a much needed drag. It didn’t matter how many cigarettes he smoked tonight, and he was already getting excited at the prospect of breaking his strict rationing.

The noise of the bar had hit him hard, but it all faded away as he caught sight of the man who was sitting dejectedly at the bar. And, lord, Bucky knew those shoulders, and that neck, and that mop of blond hair that he could always pick out in a crowd.

His first instinct was to leave. That’s what he always did. For years, any sight of Steve Rogers had sent Bucky running for the door. His second instinct was to put out the cigarette in his hands. Ever since Steve was a baby, he had asthma.

Bucky stayed right in his place as he realized it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to run away because by the time his father would somehow catch wind of Bucky spending time with Steve, Bucky would already be on a train to basic. After that, it wouldn’t be long before Bucky joined all the other men in Europe who were being blasted to bits or shot holes into.

Bucky put out his cigarette and then slowly walked over to Steve. His chest hurt with anxiety, even after all the drinks. Unsteady, Bucky sat at the barstool next to Steve and said, “Funny seeing you here.”

Steve whipped his head over in surprise, eyes wide as he stared at Bucky for a few awkward seconds. His face grew hard as he looked at Bucky, though, like he had been prepping himself for this exact moment.

“What do you want?” he asked, that stubborn voice making Bucky dizzy with nostalgia. Jesus, he missed that voice.

“Nothin’,” Bucky hummed, smiling at him. “Just wanted to know how you were doing.”

He did, too, desperately. For years, Bucky has had to scrounge any information on Steve’s life. Most of what he overheard was embarrassing tales of defeat in back alley fights told by men who’d always laugh at Steve. The only thing Bucky had actually ever heard anyone discuss was Steve’s mother’s death, and that had been a fleeting moment at the grocers where Bucky had tried to calmly pick through a barrel of apples as two women from the neighborhood chatted about it. At the time, Bucky had been so cut up about it that he tried to devise a plan to see Sarah in the hospital and to say goodbye. He hadn’t, though, too scared he’d run into Steve or someone would catch him. All he could do was sit out in his fire escape and cry, heavy sobs racking his body the day he found out she had passed.

Here was Steve, though, right in front of him. He looked like hell, and Bucky wanted to know everything about him.

“I’m fine,” Steve replied curtly.

“Fine?” Bucky echoed sarcastically. “You don’t look that way.”

Steve frowned at him for a few seconds before huffing out a sigh and digging a piece of paper out of his pocket. He slid the paper over for Bucky to see. At first, Bucky didn’t know what he was looking at, but then it hit him.

“You tried to enlist?”

“Fourth time. They won’t take me.”

Bucky honest to god laughed at him. “Good. You’d die out there, Steve.”

“I should be fighting for this country,” Steve told him angrily. “You should be, too. If you were smart you’d go and enlist.”

Bucky almost wanted to correct him, and tell him all about the draft letter that came for him. He refused to. He didn’t want to think about it, and definitely not talk about it. Worst of all, he hated the thought of Steve knowing that he didn’t enlist in the first place, and the only reason he was leaving was because his name was drawn from some proverbial hat.

“Maybe later. I’m having a drink with an old friend right now.”

Steve scoffed. “We’re not friends.”

Bucky felt especially sober in this moment. “We were.”

“And we’re not now because of you, so let’s keep it that way.”

Bucky wanted to order the strongest alcohol they had and down it in one go. He had already blown most of his money, though, and he didn’t want for Steve Rogers to think he was any weaker than he already thought he was.

“I miss you,” he admitted quietly, leaning in closer to Steve. It didn’t feel the way he thought it would coming out of his mouth. Instead of the bitter taste of a secret kept safe for years, it felt more like a brushing comment. The sweetness of the words quickly dissipated, though, and Bucky was only left with sadness. “I really fucking missed you, Steve.”

Steve didn’t respond. He only looked forward, the grip on his glass of beer noticeably tightening.

“Please,” Bucky said next, not sure what he was even asking for. He knew he had to, though. He couldn’t die knowing that Steve Rogers hated him. “I’m sorry. I – ”

Steve was getting off his barstool, throwing a few coins on the bar, and rushing towards the door. The whole thing happened so fast that Bucky watched after him stupidly for a few seconds before jolting to life and following him outside. The cold January weather was polarizing to the stifling bar, but Bucky was no less drunk.

Steve was walking away from the bar with his hands balled into fists at his side as he turned sharply into an alleyway. Bucky could practically feel the anger radiating off from him. If Bucky was a truly good man, he would’ve walked away and not bothered Steve again. He couldn’t, though, and instead he was rushing to catch up with him, grabbing him by his bony arm to make him stop.

Steve jerked away. “You don’t get to do this!” he shouted accusingly. “You left! And you can’t just come back like this and expect for me to be your friend again or for me to – ”

Bucky cut Steve off this time by pushing him against the brick building and kissing him. It hadn’t been his kiss to take, but Steve hadn’t rejected it. Instead, he nearly _growled_ as he kissed back, hand fisting Bucky’s shirt to pull him closer.

Bucky’s mind flooded with memories of Steve Rogers just at the taste of his mouth and the smell of his neck when Bucky nosed the soft skin for a few hurried breaths. “I miss you so much,” he kept muttering, the words jumbling together heavily in his mouth until Steve cut him off to kiss him again.

It was dangerous, the two of them hiding away in some back alley and hoping no one stumbles upon them. It was risky, even in their neighborhood, but Bucky couldn’t tell himself to let go and walk away. He kept managing to get closer, until he could feel the hot press of Steve’s hip.

Steve leaned back, though, nearly knocking his head on the brick as he looked around quickly and then back to Bucky. “We should get out of here. Come home with me.”

It felt like a dream, and Bucky wasn’t entirely sure if he had already gone to war and died and this was some sort of fantasy he was living. It was everything he wanted. He could already taste the forgiveness of Steve’s tongue, and he could already taste the promises and the new life they could live.

It wasn’t his future.

“I can’t,” Bucky told him mournfully. “I have somewhere to be in a few hours.”

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded. He thought for a few seconds before saying, “Tomorrow? Do you remember my old apartment?”

Bucky shook his head on automatic. He couldn’t forget the place. He dreamt of it’s dirty walls and stifling summer heat every other night.

Just as Bucky had hoped, Steve smiled at him. For a few brief seconds, Bucky could believe that he’d find his way to Steve’s apartment tomorrow instead of on a train headed to his eminent death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> less flashbacks, more angst.

Bucky was walking home from work when he first heard the yelling.

Maybe it was years of frantically following shouts to find himself always led to Steve Rogers with a bloody nose, or maybe it’s just plain curiosity, but Bucky couldn’t help but to head towards it. He turned sharply into an alleyway to find a cluster of angry men surrounding a much smaller man.

Of course it was Steve. Bucky knew it would be Steve all along.

He was being punched in the face just as Bucky walked closer, the force knocking him to the ground. It was all Bucky needed to jump into action, randomly grabbing at the nearest men. It was a gamble, trying to fight four men at the same time, but Bucky didn’t weigh out his odds before he started punching. When it came to Steve, it seemed as though he never did.

Bucky had been in enough fights over the years to know how to defend himself just as well as he knew how to throw a good punch. He had no issues blocking a blow before curling his fist just right. He’d always been a dirty fighter too, never having qualms about kicking when his enemy was down (something Steve used to reprimand him for) or going for a swift kick to opponent’s crotch.

What started out as an energy filled fight, slowly dwindled as they teamed up on him. One of them got in a good punch to his face and a kick to his stomach before Bucky was being grabbed, choked by the forearm of one of the goons. He struggled for a few seconds, hands uselessly grappling at his capture.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted.

Just then, Steve ran into the man choking Bucky, throwing the two of them off balance for just long enough for Bucky to elbow the man and struggle out of his hold. Bucky saw Steve topple to the ground, and he quickly stood in front of him with his fists raised.

He could feel the blood dripping out of his nose and his head was throbbing, but he held his ground, leering at the men around them. He wasn’t surprised to see them exchanging glances, clearly trying to decide if sticking around was worth it. Bucky held himself until one of them spit at the ground near Bucky and they sauntered away.

The second they rounded the corner, Bucky felt his body deflate. His shoulder fell and he let out a long breath, grimacing as he rolled his shoulders and looked at his bloody knuckles. He closed his eyes, counted to five, and then started walking, knowing he couldn’t spend any more time there.

“Bucky, wait!” Steve was shouting from behind him.

Stupidly, Bucky did stop. He turned slightly, so that he could see the way that Steve had stood up and wiped the blood from under his nose. He had a cut on his cheek that was leaving blood running down his neck. Bucky yearned to reach out and carefully take his face into his hands. He wished to stand in between Steve’s leg and clean his wounds and wash away the blood.

Steve stared back at him, his face a mix of emotions. “Thank you,” he finally said, breathing still heavy.

“You should disinfect that when you get home,” Bucky told him quietly, gesturing to the cut on his face.

Then, before Steve could say anything else, he left.

***

Steve isn’t how Bucky remembers him.

Truthfully, he hasn’t changed that much at all, but there are things that Steve does that surprise Bucky. Before he’ll make a decision, in front of all the commandos, he’ll turn to Bucky for a second opinion. Bucky can’t remember a time when Steve had looked for Bucky’s thoughts before running headfirst into trouble. It’s thrilling and anxiety inducing. He’s never quite sure if he’s leading Steve straight into a burning building or towards his future.

(Admittedly, though, Bucky’s not sure that Steve’s future hasn’t always been a burning building. The flames have been flickering on him for years but they haven’t consumed him whole.)

There are smaller things too, though. The way that Steve stares into the horizon, a troubled expression on his face, like he can’t just fight his way out of this one. It’s the way he kills a rabbit for them to roast over a fire, his hands breaking its neck when all Bucky can remember is how gentle he used to be with the alley cats. It’s the way he looks at Bucky, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s on his side or not.

They leave London with the commandos and go on secretive missions, traveling through war torn villages and not always saving everyone. Bucky can see the weight every death leaves on Steve. He wishes he could sit beside him by the fire and tell him that he just has to stop thinking, that things will feel so much better once he stops taking every death like it was dealt by his own hands. He’s not nearly as close as he should be to tell Steve that.

They talk. It’s slow at first, but they get to know each other again through long hours of waiting to strike or edgy, sleepless nights in abandoned homes. Bucky takes his gun apart and cleans it, Steve watching idly and telling a story of the USO dancers. Steve looks up from a stack of strategy notes and huffs out a sigh, waiting for Bucky to make up a distraction.

Maybe Bucky knew it was bound to happen eventually. Maybe he was secretively hoping it would, but they end up alone sometimes and Bucky can feel it waiting under his skin, the buzz that longs for a taste he hasn’t known in years.

That’s how they end up where they are now, on a night mission to collect intel behind enemy lines. It’s just the two of them, and Bucky can’t remember how it happened that way, but he’s almost positive it’s Steve’s doing. The barn they’re staying in is dirty and the air is awkward as they step inside after a long day of work before traveling home.

Without a mission to focus on, the tension between the two of them has multiplied. Steve immediately sets to work cleaning out a dark corner for the two of them two sleep on, his shield and helmet forgotten by the door. Bucky stands in the archway and watches, his arms over his chest, not in a rush to help.

Steve notices him watching but only looks away to kick at the loose chunks of wood. “Should be safe for the two of us to sleep without lookout,” he says conversationally.

Bucky nods his head, but he doesn’t agree with it. They’re never safe, and there’s no point in wasting energy fighting about it. He already knows he’s going to be up all night.

Digging in his pocket, Bucky comes up with a precious pack of cigarettes that is nearly falling apart with how long he’s traveled with it and a book of matches. He saves them desperately, but now seems like a good of time as any to light one up and bring it to his lips.

Steve stands up straight and watches him with a crease in his eyebrow. Bucky feels small and self-conscious under his gaze. He focuses on inhaling and exhaling. Steve walks over then, stopping just barely a few inches from Bucky, and holds out his hand in question.

Slowly, Bucky holds out the cigarette. Steve takes it and brings it to his lips, angling his face away when he exhales. Bucky still feels his heart rate accelerate by how close Steve is.

“I’d never thought I’d see the day you smoked,” Bucky tells him quietly. It’s not even the first time Bucky’s seen Steve smoking, though. He’s caught glimpses of him huddled around fires taking drags with the other soldiers before. This is the first time he’s shared a cigarette with him, though, mouth fitting over where Steve’s had been.

Steve takes another exhale before handing it back, settling in next to Bucky so that their shoulders are touching. “I never really understood it,” he admits quietly. “Probably the serum.”

He won’t admit it, but Bucky understands. It used to feel good, like he was always scratching an itch when he lit up. It’s different now, though. There’s barely any relief when he breathes in the nicotine. Mostly, he likes it for what it used to be. He likes the rote of it, like it reminds him of how simple things used to be at home.

 “Shouldn’t waste things like this out here,” Bucky tells him sagely. Still, he holds out the last of the cigarette for Steve to take.

When he exhales the rest of it, flicking the stub the ground, he looks up from under his eyelashes at Bucky. There’s a few seconds where Bucky is acutely aware of where they’re touching. He doesn’t mean to, not really, but he starts to lean in. Steve is too, though. It’s not just him this time.

When their lips finally meet, Bucky suddenly remembers how hungry he’s been. It’s light until it isn’t, Bucky gripping Steve’s leather jacket and walking him backwards until he’s against the wall of the barn. It feels more like fighting with the way they kiss, both of them fighting for dominance. Bucky likes the back and forth, though, likes the way that he can push at Steve and know he’s not hurting him.

He likes the way Steve can push on him, spinning them around so that it’s Bucky pinned against the wall. Bucky chokes on a surprised noise, and Steve laughs into his neck, leaning forward to suck at his skin.

“Too easy, Barnes,” he mutters, amused.

Bucky’s chest warms at the sound of his laugh, but he can’t help to quiet it with a careful hand on Steve’s pants, fingers running over his bulge. Predictably, Steve falters at the touch, gasping audibly into Bucky’s skin.

“Don’t think I’m the easy one, Cap.”

Steve groans, half in pleasure and half in annoyance. “Don’t call me that.”

Bucky smirks. “Make me.”

This is just the encouragement that Steve needs to pull him to the ground, the two of them curling into each other so easily. Steve is nearly in Bucky’s lap, the two of them rocking into each other, the friction making Bucky pant into Steve’s ear. Steve has his arm wrapped around Bucky, his hand gripping the back of his head, pulling harshly at his short hair. It drives Bucky wild with want. Everything feels so frantic, and Bucky’s scared he’s going to miss his opportunity if he doesn’t act quick.

There are too many layers, though, and Bucky is desperate to get them off. Steve is too, his hands helping Bucky’s navigate his belt, letting it fall to the ground before he starts to work on his zipper. Bucky’s hands take over so that Steve’s can work on Bucky’s pants.

This isn’t exactly how Bucky would’ve imagined their first time, but he’s not expecting some sort of a roses and candles moment between the two of them. This is enough for Bucky. This is more than he thought he’d ever get.

“Fucking – _Christ_ ,” Steve hisses out when Bucky dips his hand in his underwear and touches him.

Stupidly, Bucky wonders how far Steve’s ever gotten with someone else. The last time Bucky had ever known anything about Steve, they were sixteen and he’d never even been kissed. For all Bucky knows, he could’ve been with a few women, or even a man. The idea is startling to him, and it fills him with jealousy that makes him lean in and kiss Steve possessively.

Steve groans into the kiss, clearly appreciative of the way they move together when Bucky arches into his touch. He’s close already, and it seems wrong for it to be all over soon. He wishes he could lay Steve down and fuck him, or the other way around, but they can’t, not with the scant amount of things they have in their backpacks.

He’s not sure if he’ll get another chance with Steve, so he holds off as long as he can, head bent into Steve’s neck. He breathes him in, desperate to save it for later. The thing that makes Bucky lose it is the way that Steve comes. His hand falters on Bucky as it happens, his breath hot and heavy on Bucky’s skin. It’s only seconds later that Bucky follows him, the two of them making a mess between their bodies.

They lean on each other as they come down, neither of them in a hurry to clean up. Bucky doesn’t realize it until his breathing’s evened out, but he’s stroking Steve’s hair absentmindedly. It feels wrong, so he pulls his hand back, dropping it to Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s out of our systems now,” he finally says quietly, voice feeling raw. “We can’t do this again.”

He’s lying, and he’s sure Steve knows it. No matter how hard Bucky’s tried, he’s never been able to get Steve out of his system, and if anything, this has only made him want him more. Now that he knows the way Steve sounds, and he’s had him in his hands, he can’t go back. He only wants more.

Steve looks up, face still flushed red. He looks hurt with the way he frowns at Bucky with hard eyes. He doesn’t say anything but it still makes Bucky feel horrible.

“We could get court martialed,” Bucky explains.

That’s a lie too. Steve is Captain America, and there’s no way they’d send him home because they caught him kissing a sergeant. Bucky would be the one sent back to the states, some dishonorable discharge on his records even after everything he’s been through.

“Okay,” Steve finally says.

Slowly, they disentangle, realizing the mess they’ve made on each other. Bucky rubs at the sticky white liquid, not sure if it’s his or Steve’s. There’s still a stain, but it doesn’t matter, not really. It’ll soon be covered in dirt or someone else’s blood in a matter of time.

Later, they sleep with their backs to each other.

***

After that it becomes a thing for them.

Bucky doesn’t mean for it to happen, but they somehow always draw together like magnets. It always feels like it’s neither of their faults, either. Somehow one moment they are glancing at each other from a deserted hallway or setting up for the night, and then they’re grabbing at each other’s shirts and and moaning into each other’s ears. It doesn’t mean anything, either.

It doesn’t mean anything when Steve drags him from a drunken bonfire and pushes him against a tree, dropping to his knees to suck Bucky off as he bites on his hand to keep quiet. It doesn’t mean anything when Bucky sneaks into Steve’s room at headquarters and lets Steve hold him down and fuck him. It especially doesn’t mean anything when Bucky wakes up next to Steve in the cold wilderness and kisses the back of his neck tenderly until he wakes up fully and realizes what he’s doing.

Now even, it doesn’t mean anything either.

Bucky is stooped between Steve’s legs, one hand on his hard length and the other holding his hips in place as he sucks on the head of his cock. The rest of the commandos are sleeping a few feet away, having left Steve in charge for lookout for a few hours. Bucky couldn’t sleep, something that wasn’t new, and had easily found himself walking over to Steve and wordlessly falling to his knees beside him.

Steve’s hands are deep in Bucky’s greasy, dirty hair, tugging slightly in a way that makes Bucky moan. It must feel good for Steve because of the way he makes a choked noise. Between the two of them, Steve is always better at keeping quiet, but Bucky sometimes get so lost in the moment that he doesn’t even realize he’s talking or moaning until Steve reins him in with a hand or his lips over Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky’s mouth is full, though, and keeping him quiet as his tongue works so well that he’s nearly got Steve shaking. This is only his second time trying it out, but Steve’s had no complaints either time.

It only takes a few more seconds until Steve is coming warm down Bucky’s throat, and then hot and sticky on his lips and chin. Bucky swallows it all, though, surprised when Steve pulls him up with a hand on his jacket, their lips meeting harshly.

One second, they’re kissing. Then, the next, they aren’t. It’s always like this. Except, usually this is Bucky’s cue to leave. He’s supposed to go back to the commandos and slip back into his sleeping bag until he’s woken up to go on lookout. Instead, he heaves out a heavy sigh and lies on the cold grass next to Steve, eyes staring up to the sky full of stars.

They’re quiet for a few long minutes, Bucky running a tongue over his teeth and thinking of the bittersweet taste in his mouth, before he finally asks, “Were there others before me?”

Steve snorts, clearly unimpressed. “That bad, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky clarifies quietly. “It’s just…I was – ” He makes a face he knows that Steve doesn’t see. “ _Curious_.”

Steve makes a breathy, amused sound again, and he’s quiet for so long that Bucky doesn’t think he’s actually going to answer, but then he does. “A few.”

“ _A few_?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Steve says, playfully flicking Bucky’s arm until he swats his hand away. “There was a guy from my art class once. We barely even knew each other. It just sort of happened. A few times even.”

Bucky actually isn’t too surprised by this at all. Not after the way he had sunk to his knees so naturally, no awkward, fumbling preamble before he took Bucky in his mouth and skillfully got him off.

Steve clears his throat. “There was also one of the USO dancers. I think she thought it was cute that I’d never been with a dame before.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “And you liked it?”

“Yes,” he says, before pausing. “Don’t you?” Bucky must be quiet for too long because suddenly Steve is backtracking. “Or have you never – “

“I have.” The words feel heavy in Bucky’s mouth. It’s the truth, but it still feels slightly wrong. “A few times. But they were never – _I_ was never…I don’t know, Steve. It’s hard to explain.”

What Bucky can’t tell Steve is that it’s nothing like when the two of them are together. Bucky was always egged on by his father, or by other boys at the docks trading dirty stories to make the time pass, or even by the dames who would push themselves onto Bucky. What he doesn’t tell Steve is how often he fantasized about going to one of those seedy bars that they had always heard about and find a man who would let Bucky touch him, but never actually could get the courage to go.

Steve doesn’t have to ask if Bucky’s been with a man before. He hadn’t meant to admit it, but when Steve had laid him out on his bed and put confident hands on him, slipping lower and lower, Bucky had been begging for something he wasn’t even sure of. It had just come out, Bucky’s body remembering what it was like to be new at something and nervous about it, his hands anxiously tightening around the bed sheets. Steve hadn’t cared, and most of Bucky’s anxiety had melted away in Steve’s careful ministrations.

Instead of Steve replying, he simply puts a hand in Bucky’s hair, his fingers alternating between playing with the strands and stroking his head. Bucky leans into the touch, knowing that he should be getting back to his sleeping bag. He stays, though, lulled by those hands, and slips into a heavy sleep that he hasn’t known in weeks.

***

Bucky writes a letter to Rebecca as he sits in Steve’s room. They’re back in London for one more night, a new mission already awaiting them tomorrow morning. Steve is across the room at the desk, his head bent over scattered paperwork. His bangs keep slipping into his eyes, and every time he tries to push them behind his ear, they fall right back into place. Bucky tries to write his letter from the bed, but he keeps getting distracted by gazing off at Steve, mind muddled as the radio plays quietly to stifle the silence between the two of them.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice, but Bucky thinks he might’ve been caught when Steve huffs out a sigh and pushes back in his chair, making a loud scratching noise against the hardwood.

Bucky’s eyes quickly flick back down to his notebook. “You okay over there?” he asks lightly.

Steve says nothing. When Bucky glances up, he finds Steve with his head in his hands, elbows bent on his knees.

“Come on, Steve,” he says. “There’s only so much planning you can do.”

“It’s going to be a fucking mess,” he hums from behind his palms.

Bucky scoffs, putting his notebook to the side, making sure to close it up before standing from the bed. He leans down to fiddle with the radio, turning it up some before walking to Steve’s desk. Bucky squeezes between his legs, nudging Steve until he’s leaning his head on Bucky’s torso, Bucky’s hands instantly coming up to smooth over Steve’s hair. They stay like that for a few long moments, Bucky glancing up to the ceiling with a hopeless feeling washing over him. He wonders if this is too far. He wonders if these are the practiced motions of an elderly married couple.

“Nothing’s happened to us yet,” Bucky tells him quietly.

Steve makes a breathy noise. “ _Yet_.”

Bucky teasingly pulls at Steve’s hair, and when Steve looks up, eyes wide and playful, there’s a small smile on his lips. He peers up at Bucky like the last half hour of stress has melted away, and Bucky feels a little proud because of that.

The song on the radio changes, and Bucky smiles back at Steve. “Come on, let’s go dancing before bed.”

Steve quirks a confused look at him, but Bucky pulls him up from his chair and leads him to the center of the small room, kicking his pair of boots under the bed. Steve makes an amused sound when Bucky grabs his hips and hauls him closer, but he steps into it.

“You remember how I taught you, right?” Bucky asks.

Steve smirks. “Don’t think I’ve practiced in a while.”

All Bucky hears is: _I’ve not danced with anyone since you._

“It’s like riding a bike,” Bucky says, to cover his surprise.

The tempo of the song is a bit too fast, so Steve and Bucky make up their own, swaying across the room ungracefully. Steve’s feet keep stepping over each other or on Bucky’s. After a few halting seconds, Steve hides his face in Bucky’s chest, laughing loudly.

“Looks like the serum can’t fix everything.”

Steve only laughs harder. The two of them keeping moving along, Steve’s feet still stumbling along with them. Bucky feels himself laugh, too. He’s surprised by how it feels to just laugh at something and not feel the grim war creeping back into everything. For a few blissful seconds, he puts all his fear down to dance and laugh with Steve.

That’s what makes it harder, when Steve peaks his head back up, a light smile on his flushed face. He looks at Bucky so intently, like he’s never thought twice of the permeating sadness that’s been playing his face since being shipped out. He looks at him so softly that Bucky is frozen for a few seconds, heart stuttering in his chest.

“Bucky, I have to tell you something,” Steve says quietly.

Something sets heavy in Bucky’s stomach. They stop swaying.

Steve clears his throat. “I meant to tell you sooner, and I know it will change things but – “

Bucky is panicking, his heart constricting in his chest and bile rising in his throat. He’s been terrified of this moment. “ _Steve_ ,” he chokes out, nearly coughing out the word.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Steve tells him. It sounds like an apology, and Bucky hates that. He says this next part quick, like he’s scared he’s not going to be able to if he doesn’t. “I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky has to look away. He wishes he could ignore this. “Please,” Bucky begs. “ _Don’t_.” He doesn’t want to say this. He wants to kiss Steve and whisper the words back to him a million times. He wants to curl up in his bed and kiss his words into his skin and wake up in his arms and tell it to him again. He’s always wanted everything he could get with Steve Rogers, but this is – He can’t do this. Not now.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky looks up to see hurt look on Steve’s face. He wants to take it all back but he can’t. If he could’ve had Steve saying those words to him a few years ago, he wouldn’t need to. They’re at war, and they are two men, and there is nothing Bucky can do about that.

“I should go,” Bucky tells him when he means to apologize.

He leaves Steve standing in the middle of the room, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

***

The next day, a hand reaches out but falls short. It’s probably ironic.


End file.
